Does the dog still bark when after midnight the heat forces you to fling your window open? I miss your laid back voice in the humid night.
How does the third layer of blue dry on the oil you once painted for me? I don’t have unhappy memories, just naïve daydreams that we’ll never share.
We’re both jaded from too many sunsets of love sinking down behind picturesque silhouettes. Still I feel I should have yelled at you just once
to procrastinate my lingering heart attack, you’d have been too distracted anyway . So, come out my heart, let’s  stroll along the lonely shore and breathe some sexless air
watch another bloody sunset slip down the horizon because this time it isn’t meant for us.

Poetry by the author writing as Gurkski